


Pictures of You

by ErniesGoingtotheValley



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Dissociation, Heaven, M/M, Murder, Prayer, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErniesGoingtotheValley/pseuds/ErniesGoingtotheValley
Summary: A single voice broke through. “Cas, you got your ears on?”
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Pictures of You

**Author's Note:**

> At the end of Season 8 Episode 16, Dean prays to Castiel. And at the beginning of Season 8, Episode 17, we learn that at the same time, Naomi was brainwashing Castiel and training him to kill Dean. What if Castiel heard Dean's prayer?

The blade in his palm was heavy and sleek, and Castiel gripped it tightly. Even now, when nothing else was certain, he knew it was his. It was slightly off-balance -- a minor imperfection, and something another angel would consider without value and would throw away. But the flaw made it unique. And maybe it was humanity rubbing off on him, but Castiel valued its flaw.

It could only be his. Only his blade. But what’s on it? That’s blood, dripping off the tip.

Dean was dead on the floor in front of him.

Castiel stood frozen, wondering at the crushed skull and dripping blood. He flipped the blade between his hands, feeling the weight in Novak’s palms, numb and uncertain if this was real.  
He felt a stab in his left temple and shut his eyes. 

There was a shadow in his mind. He’d known it for some time. And he’d nearly burst his vessel once trying to escape it. Hands clutching his head, breathing harsh, he almost folded under the pressure.

His vision flashed white, then black. A cruel voice echoed in his head: Again.

Then Castiel opened his eyes, alone in a warehouse. His blade was clenched in his right hand, clean and glinting in the dim light. He leaned against a wall and squatted, hidden in the shadows, his eyes scanning the room for threats.

There -- a flash of motion.

Someone was breathing sharply around the corner. He waited, still as stone and blade held high. He heard human fingers brush softly on a gun.

A pistol, he thought.

What was that? How did he know? Behind the shadow in his mind, a memory broke through: he had seen someone with a pistol before, one they slept with under a pillow.

The breathing grew harsher, catching with a sound Castiel recognized from musty nights in dark motel rooms. Slow, heavy footsteps crept closer.

A man rounded the corner, face shadowed and body tensed. A sliver of light moved across his face as he steadily walked closer, and with a jolt, Castiel recalled the same stony face that had once shared long glances illuminated by flickering streetlights on nighttime drives in the Impala.

Dean Winchester stood in front of him.

This Dean was imperfect. He looked like Dean. He smelled rough, and woodsy, and just a little sweet -- like Dean. His hazel eyes were wide in surprise and horror. And his soft lips, above a chisled jaw, opened to speak, or maybe to scream, but Castiel wouldn’t give him the chance.

A fist flew out and knocked the man to the ground.

Castiel moved like he was in a dream. He heard cries and begging from far away, as though through a fog. He heard pleas from a voice he thought he knew. There was blood on a hand. His hand? He thought he felt a bone break. He thought he felt another.

_“Cas…”_

Suddenly, Castiel’s vision blurred. The quiet buzz of angel radio, usually quiet in the back of his mind, swelled with volume. His brothers and sisters, and the prayers of the world, were filling his mind. He gasped, putting a hand to his head, trying to shut a door on the noise.

A single voice broke through.

_“Cas, you got your ears on?”_

Castiel was pulled out of his reality, now seeing himself in two frames: one holding a limp and bleeding false Dean Winchester in his furious hands, and one where his Dean Winchester was waiting for him to answer.

The shadow binding him splintered. He started shaking, and his vision crossed and blurred. Someone was screaming. Maybe it was him. It was like the world around him was twisting but according to his sight, everything stood still.

Castiel fell too fast.

The first thing he saw was a broad back and a head bowed. A man was sitting on the edge of his bed. Cas saw the tension running over his shoulder blades.

“Listen, you know I’m not one for prayin’...”

Dean’s rough voice rang clear to Castiel. It was a balm on the noise in his head, the horrors in his vision, and the aching he felt in their time apart.

At the same time, somewhere inside Castiel, a gate opened -- and hundreds of prayers flooded in, all Dean’s. Asking for help on a case, asking him to watch over Sam, asking where he was. Some were angry. More were furious. All were desperate.

Castiel was rooted to the floor, ears awash in the flood, standing behind the bed where Dean was perched. All he could do was listen.

“...’cause in my book it’s...it’s the same as begging. But this is about Sam so I need you to hear me.”

Castiel wished Dean would ask for more. Even beg. Dean could have the world but asked for nothing for himself. If Castiel had been free, he’d have given the man everything he was ever going to pray for. For now, Castiel’s shackles to heaven bound him just to listen.

“We are going into this deal blind. And I don’t know what’s ahead, or what it’s gonna bring for Sam. Now, he’s covering pretty good, but I can tell he’s hurtin’, and this one was supposed to be on me.”

Dean knew Castiel couldn’t help Sam. Sam’s breaking apart in ways an angel couldn’t begin to mend. Dean should know that. Something dark, just out of his vision, was tugging at Castiel but he couldn’t look away. What does Dean really want?

“So, for all that we’ve been through, I’m asking you. You keep a lookout for my little brother, okay?”

From his seat on the edge of the bed, Dean turned around slowly. His eyes scanned the room. He didn't want to hope to see Castiel, but it didn’t matter. Cas wasn't there anymore. He was back in heaven, his imperfect blade buried to the hilt in an imperfect Dean’s chest.

A single stream of blood trickled out of this Dean’s mouth, running down his stony cheek to drip onto the cement floor. 

Castiel was numb. The lights turned on, and he felt a clap on his back.

“You’re ready,” said Naomi, surveying his latest practice kill. Castiel took in the dozens--no, hundreds of imperfect Dean Winchesters strewn across the floor. 

_“Where the hell are you, man?”_

The real Dean’s voice echoed in Castiel’s ear, the last thing he heard before the shadow shut the door in his mind again.

Castiel prayed Dean wouldn't find out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This moment was always so poignant and heartbreaking. Glad to bring it to life.
> 
> PS. If you like this then check out my other fic :)


End file.
